White. Wintry mornings and sunlight filtering through frosted windows. The cat always purred softly frolicking through the snow those days. Bea, in her delicate skates and matching dress cascading around her lithe figure. The movement out of place in the pristine world as she twirled. She was a beautiful blizzard disrupting the serene surface. Her pale skin flushed with the exhilaration of skating on the glistening ice. Then he appeared, thawing her enchanting scene, and they both tumbled into the shifting flakes.
Red. Evenings spent by the fire together. Before, it was only her, the cat, and the flickering flames hypnotic as they snapped. Now she was curled on the velvety sofa with him. Her skates were tucked away underneath all the expensive, silky clothing in vibrant colors he’d bought for her. Underneath the discarded heart boxes, and the plush bear that reminds her “Thomas Loves You!”
Red. Before she skated every morning, noon, and night. She watched the blazing sunsets painting the sky, the roses and tulips gently blowing in the breeze. Now she waited at the door worrying her hands and clicking the heels of her cherry stilettos. Strawberry lip gloss smeared when she licked her lips anxiously.
Red. The other girl’s nails and swishing dress. Her lipstick perfectly done as though she had no concerns at all. That same lipstick in two completely “un-perfect” smudges on his neck. His cheeks, him. Bea’s hot, teary rage gazing blankly at the sunset she used to watch with Thomas- the one he now watched with her, Jessica. The name even tasted rotten, like sour wine and spite. Bea threw her already bruised apple at the closet, she didn’t have the stomach for it, and after the thud of her heart breaking came the sound of bitter reminder from atop the clothes and boxes, “Thomas Loves You!”
White. Pale fingers tracing the elegant ice. Bea hadn’t skated in a year. That January morning was just like the one she met him on. The same streaks of fluffy clouds lightly dusting the spidery ice with melting snowflakes. The same downy layers of snow were still there at the sides, and her cat still frolicked about in them. It was no different, except that morning felt cold, impossibly so. She’d never felt that kind of cold before, the freezing chill of emptiness. The glint of the sun was a mere pinprick behind the pillow-clouds. Her warmth was Thomas, and Thomas was gone.